A tattoo on the skin is not enough any more. It will not last. Tattoos on bones. Will last forever, even when we disappear.
Our life is a performance. We perform on the stage, being watched and changing costumes constantly. Shame that some of us have such short and dull roles to act. With no applause at the end.
On the tube. A middle aged woman, rather unemployed and poor. With all years marked with wrinkles on her face and hands. Opposite her sitting a very smart high class woman in a similar age. Dressed up like if she was going to the opera. Carrying a magazine with wines and making marks to remember which one to try. The way the first one looks at the other you can compare to the way a
canary sitting in a cage looks at the canary flying freely outside. The
feeling of something so painfully unreachable that turns your guts upside down.
We easily forget happy things, great moments and precious people. But we always remember our disappointments, insults and people who hurt us.
Why do people think that when pushing all the time the button the lights will change faster?
Man in the stylish suit on the bus. With his shirt perfectly ironed, cufflinks and shiny shoes, playing car racing game. Longing for childhood in a grown up suited world.